Chikashi doesn't question me when I wake him, hurriedly throwing him clothes. We move as fast as I can manage through a cloudy haze of pain, but I refuse to let him help me. Climbing onto the roof of our house, I grin at Chikashi's shocked expression.
The sky is painted with flecks of purple and orange and gold, like the sunrise of Haruaki's birth. We have a clear view of Main Street and the police station is in ruins. Flames rage across it, rising higher and higher.
I take Chikashi's hand and place Father's lighter on it, watching as realization dawns on his face. I lean into him and together we watch the rising fire.
It doesn't matter if we fall. We may be broken, but we'll rise together.
YOU ARE READING
Rising Fire
Historical FictionOur greatest glory is not in never falling - but rising every time we fall. -Confucius This fictitious short story encapsulates the heart-breaking effect of war on the family of a Japanese military official who moved to Australia in the hopes of inf...
